


Born on the Fourth of July

by gth694e



Category: Marvel, Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, also Clint believes in conspiracy theories, but mostly tooth rottingly fluff, for the record, happy birthday captain america, pure fluff, some very minor angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-04
Updated: 2014-07-04
Packaged: 2018-02-07 12:06:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1898379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gth694e/pseuds/gth694e
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint Barton refuses to believe it's a coincidence that Captain America was born on the Fourth of July.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Born on the Fourth of July

**Author's Note:**

  * For [concertigrossi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/concertigrossi/gifts).



> I wrote this for concertigrossi, because she was craving fluff.
> 
> I also wrote this because the other day at lunch I told a friend that July 4 was Steve Rogers birthday and she was like "No way, that can't be a coincidence!" (To which I had no appropriate response, because....it's not a coincidence, lol)
> 
> Let me also say this is an unbeta-ed piece of flash fic that I wrote in somewhat of a hurry so I could get it up before the Fourth ends, so I apologize for any typos. All errors are my own.

“I’m just saying, _if_ it is true—which I don’t believe it is—it’s highly coincidental,” Clint said.

Phil turned in his seat, looking at the archer in the light of the scrolling credits. He was beautiful, even as the light of the movie illuminated him shoving popcorn in his mouth. “In a movie where a supersoldier punches an alien in the face, you’re questioning the historical veracity of Steve Rogers’ birthday?”

“Well, yeah, I mean obviously all the other stuff is crap,” Clint said, waving a salt and butter covered hand at the movie screen. “Well, no, not crap because this movie was awesome—“ Phil rolled his eyes at that. Clint was bound to think anything with large explosions and a sniper taking down an alien mothership with a highly improbably plasma gun was awesome. “—but we know that stuff isn’t true. There were no aliens in World War II…” Clint hesitated, shooting a glance at Phil. “Right?”

“Right,” Phil agreed, his lips quirking into a smile.

“But the stuff about Steve Rogers is supposed to be true, it’s supposed to be _history_ , but Steve’s birthday being the Fourth of July is obviously propaganda. What are the odds that the person who becomes Captain America has a birthday on the Fourth of July?”

“Well I don’t know what to tell you, Clint, because it is true,” Phil said. “The records of the time…”

“Yeah, like it’s not easy to forge records,” Clint snarked.

“…clearly indicate that it is actually his birthday. It’s what Steve Rogers put on all of his enlistment forms.”

“So what? It’s just a coincidence?”

“Yes.”

Clint snorted. “Right. Sure. Because if there is one thing I’ve learned in life it’s that coincidences totally happen all the time.”

Phil shook his head and reached over, grabbing a handful of popcorn. His hand brushed Clint’s in the bowl, and Phil was glad for the poor light. God, his crush on this man was ridiculous.

The credits came to an end, and Phil rose from his seat. He turned to Clint, who was still frowning at the movie screen.

“Come on,” Phil said. “We should be able to get a free refill of the popcorn if you want.”

Clint looked up at him then, his brow still furrowed in a puzzled expression. “Phil?”

“Yes?”

“Was this a date?”

For a moment Phil froze, unable to look away from Clint’s questioning blue eyes. Part of him wanted to deny it. To quickly assure him that they were just two friends hanging out—that he hated going to movies alone and he thought Clint would enjoy this one.

But that was the coward’s way out, and after watching Captain America put everything on the line to save humanity from a completely fictional alien threat, Phil could not bring himself to be a coward. Not this time.

“I mean,” Clint said, rising to his feet, one hand rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s just that you paid for my dinner and my ticket, and it just seems like a very date thing, but I suppose you do make more than me, so you’re just trying to save me the cost…”

Phil reached out, a gentle hand on Clint’s upper arm. The other man stopped babbling. “Clint, I would like it very much for this to have been a date.”

Clint looked up, his eyes widening. “Really?”

“Really.”

A slow smile spread across the archer’s face, and Phil’s heart fluttered.

“Cool,” Clint said. “I…uh…I’m glad.” The archer glanced around and then look shyly back up at Phil. “Can I..uh…can I kiss you?”

Phil’s grip tightened on Clint’s arm and his mouth went dry. But he managed to nod and say, “Yeah.”

Clint tasted butter and salt, and Phil would never again be able to eat movie theater popcorn without thinking of Clint.

#

Phil had walked in on Clint and Natasha doing a lot of strange things over the course of the past two years. He’d learned not to question it, especially after the time he’d walked in on Natasha hanging upside down from the ceiling in a Houdini-like rig. If he didn’t know about it, then he didn’t need to report them. Plausible deniability.

But usually they didn’t get up to their shenanigans in his office. And usually it didn’t involve his files.

Phil paused in the doorway, studying the scene before him. Natasha lay across the couch on her stomach, her feet kicking in the air, while she frowned at an open file. Clint sat on the floor, surrounded by files, while he actively flipped through one. Phil recognized all the files, they were his copies of the old SSR files—which he absolutely did not have because of his Captain America obsession thank you very much. He had them because he monitored Operation Frostbite, the ongoing mission to recover Captain America’s body.

“Have you considered that one of the reasons they chose him was because his birthday was the Fourth of July?” Natasha asked.

 “If that was the case then why didn’t all of the candidates have July 4th birthdays?” Clint asked.

Natasha hummed in response, flipping to the next page in her files.

Phil looked at his file cabinet at the back of the room, with its open drawer. “Did you bust the lock when you broke into this?”

“Phil, please, I’m insulted,” Clint said. “I am much more skilled at lock-picking than that.”

Natasha snorted.

“Okay, so Nat is much more skilled at lock-picking than that…”

Phil shook his head and crossed the room, careful not to step on the files spread out on the floor. None of these were originals—those were kept in a special vault at another location—but getting new copies was more trouble than it was worth. Phil stopped beside Clint and then squatted down beside him. For a moment Phil hesitated, but then he put an arm around Clint as he glanced over his shoulder. “What exactly are you looking for?”

Clint stiffened at his touch, and for a moment Phil worried he had miscalculated. Sure yesterday had been a date, but maybe Clint wasn’t ready to broadcast it to all of SHIELD. Maybe he didn’t want to. Maybe he…

The archer glanced back at him with a blindingly bright smile, his body relaxing into Phil’s touch. “I still don’t believe this born on the Fourth of July thing, and when I told Natasha…”

“It is extremely coincidental that a tool of American propaganda would have such a fortuitous birthday,” Natasha said. She sat up on the couch, crossing her legs gracefully, a small smile gracing her face. “And I’m glad to see you two have gotten your act together. I was worried I was going to have to do something about your mutual pining.”

“Nat,” Clint said, horrified.

Phil’s eyebrows rose as he resituated himself more comfortably on the floor. He removed his arm from around Clint’s shoulder, settling cross-legged on the floor next to the archer, and rested his hand on the man’s thigh. “Pining, huh?”

Clint blushed, assiduously studying the files in front of him instead of meeting Phil’s gaze, but he did scooch over so that their knees overlapped.

God, Clint was beautiful. And this time, Phil could stare all he wanted. Clint was his to stare at.

“If this is what you guys are going to be like all the time from now on, I’m going to need a new team,” Natasha said.

This time Phil blushed.

He cleared his throat, looking down at the spread of files. “Have you guys even stopped to consider that Steve Rogers was never intended to be Captain America?”

Both assassins looked up from their files with nearly identical frowns. “What do you mean?” Clint asked.

“Steve Rogers was an experiment. He was supposed to be the first of many. Yes, Dr. Erskine chose him because of his admirable qualities, but Steve was never intended to be the only super soldier. The propaganda machine that is Captain America was created for Steve because they were too afraid to send Erskine’s sole success in the field. If Erskine had never died, Steve would have been sent into the field probably with a whole platoon of super soldiers, the mythos of Captain America would never have been created, and you wouldn’t be sitting here wondering how coincidental all this was.”

For a moment they were both silent, and then Clint shook his head. “Nope. I refuse to accept that the Fourth of July just happens to be his birthday. When they created the Captain America thing, someone at the SSR must have changed all of his records. It wouldn’t have been that hard to do.”

Phil smiled, and then he leaned over to press a kiss to Clint’s temple. Natasha rolled her eyes and muttered something that sounded like “sickeningly sweet.” Clint, on the other hand, turned to look at Phil in surprise. “What was that for?”

“Nothing,” Phil answered. “What? A man can’t kiss his best guy?”

Clint blushed again—and God, Phil could spend the rest of his life making this man blush—while Natasha snorted. “What is this 1940?”

Phil ignored Natasha, instead choosing to change the subject. “We have a mission brief in fifteen minutes. You guys clean this up while I prep for it, okay?”

They both nodded and started cleaning up the files. Phil got to his feet, suppressing a groan at the ache in his muscles. He was getting old, older than he liked to admit. And yet…Clint seemed to like him anyway.

Phil sat at his desk, opening the computer files for the mission brief and sending them to the printer.

“Hey, isn’t Peggy Carter still alive?” Clint asked, pausing as he rose gracefully to his feet. “Wonder if we could get a meeting with her.”

“I’m not arranging a meeting with the retired director of SHIELD so that you can ask about your conspiracy theory,” Phil said.

“Aww, Phil…”

“But,” Phil continued. “If I ever meet her through legitimate means, I’ll be sure to ask.”

Clint’s smile lit up the room.

#

Phil stared down from the observation deck at the man in the ice. Doctors were scurrying everywhere, trying their best to seem like they weren’t freaking out, but barely containing their panic.

Captain America was alive.

Phil didn’t realize how hard he was gripping the railing until Clint’s hand slid over his. “Relax, Phil,” Clint muttered as he lightly knocked his shoulder against Phil.

“That’s Steve Rogers.” Phil couldn’t take his eyes away, as if the man might disappear, as if his eyes were the only thing keeping Captain America’s heart beating.

“Yeah, it is,” Clint said, prying Phil’s hands from the bar and interlacing his fingers. “You gonna be okay?”

“My second craziest dream is coming true,” Phil answered, still unable to look away.

“Second craziest? You have a dream crazier than a long-dead supersoldier coming back to life?” Clint asked.

Phil smiled and then did look away from Captain America to meet the beautiful blue eyes of his favorite agent of SHIELD.

“Yeah,” Phil said, “but it already came true.” He twisted his hand in Clint’s, so that he could run his fingers across the golden band on Clint’s left ring finger.

“You’re such a sap,” Clint muttered, as his cheeks colored.

“I am,” Phil agreed, squeezing Clint’s hand and turning his gaze back to the form of his sleeping hero.

They stood for a moment in silence, watching as the doctors argued about the best way to defrost Steve Rogers, and then Clint said, “Do you think we’ll ever get to talk to him? Like when he wakes up, will we get to meet him?”

“If Nick knows what’s good for him, yes,” Phil said.

“Good,” Clint responded, “maybe he can settle the birthday debate for us.”

“You are going to have the opportunity to meet the Captain America and you’re going to ask him if the Fourth of July is really his birthday?”

“You know it,” Clint said cheerily.

Phil couldn’t help the laughter that bubbled out of him, even when the doctors down below looked up to glare at him.

#

When Phil met Steve Rogers, he wanted to ask. He wanted to blurt out, “Is the Fourth of July really your birthday?” But it was Clint’s question, Clint’s conspiracy, not his.

And a part of Phil thought that as long as he didn’t know the answer, Clint would have to come back to ask it himself.

#

Phil dreamed.

He dreamed of Clint sitting beside him, holding his hand, and whispering, “Don’t leave me, Phil. God, please, I need you.” Phil wanted to say that Clint had already left him first, Phil was just trying to follow, but he couldn’t get anything out.

In one dream Steve Rogers and Tony Stark were yelling at Nick Fury. Phil wanted to know what it was about, to resolve whatever argument was splitting SHIELD from its heroes, but he still couldn’t find his voice.

In another dream, Natasha was crying. Phil wanted to hold her, to run his hand through her hair and assure her he would make everything better. But he couldn’t move any more than he could form words.

Constant through all the dreams was a pain that radiated from his heart. Surely death wasn’t supposed to hurt this much.

Eventually, Phil waded through the dreams. The pain never left, but he opened his eyes to see Clint. The archer was sitting in a plastic chair but was leaning forward, his forehead resting on their entwined hands. Phil moved his mouth, trying to find his voice, and managed to croak, “Clint.”

The man jerked up, his eyes wide. “Phil,” he breathed, letting go of Phil’s hands and fumbling for a cup of water at the beside. “Here drink this.”

Phil closed his chapped lips around the straw and sucked down the water greedily. God, he was thirsty. But he didn’t turn his eyes away from Clint.

When the water was gone and Clint was holding his hand again, Phil said, “You’re here. You’re okay.”

“Yeah, Natasha fixed me,” Clint said with a smile. It was a tired smiled, Phil noted. The archer’s eyes were sunken in and bloodshot, his complexion more pale than normal. But Clint was here, alive, and of his own free will.

“Goes against protocol,” Phil said. A compromised SHIELD agent was not supposed to be saved. They were supposed to be stopped, permanently.

“Yeah,” Clint said with a small smile. “But you know, Nat. She only follows protocol when she feels like it.”

“I’m glad,” Phil said. “I don’t know what I’d do…”

“Hush, Phil,” Clint said. He leaned forward, pressing a kiss to Phil’s forehead.

“Oh, sorry, I don’t mean….” Steve Rogers’ voice came from the doorway.

Clint pulled back and Phil looked to the doorway, where Steve Rogers stood uncomfortably, holding a cup of coffee and a Dunkin Donuts bag.

“Is that my breakfast?” Clint brightened. He reached out one hand, making a grabby motion, while his other hand stayed firmly entwined with Phil’s.

“Yeah,” Steve said, crossing the room and handing the coffee to Clint. He didn’t seem to know what to do with the bag of donuts, since Clint’s only available hand was filled with the coffee cup, so the supersoldier awkwardly held onto it.

Phil would later blame his blatant staring on the drugs—they were really good drugs. Steve politely ignored it and said, “Glad to see you’re awake, Phil.”

“Glad to be awake,” Phil managed to respond.

“Well, uh,” Steve placed the bag of donuts on the bed, “I’ll just leave this here and leave you two alone. I’m sure…”

“Wait,” Clint pulled his cup of coffee away from his face. “Before you go, can I ask you a question?”

“Of course, Clint, do you need me to grab you something else from your quarters? I can get Natasha…”

“No, no, nothing like that,” Clint said. “Just…isyourbirthdayreallyfourthofJuly?”

“What?” Steve asked, clearly stunned by the rush of words.

“Your birthday,” Clint repeated, this time with careful slowness. “Is it really the Fourth of July?”

Steve stared at Clint for a moment as if he had gone insane, and then just said, “Yeah, it is. July 4, 1918, which as Stark likes to often remind me makes me over 90 years old.”

Phil’s chest suddenly hurt, and for a moment he couldn’t figure out why, until he realized he was laughing, a quiet wheezing sound.

His heart monitor started beeping at an accelerated rate. Both Steve and Clint turned to him in alarm. “Get a nurse!” Clint barked at Steve, before leaning over Phil. “Phil, Phil, what is it?”

Phil smiled up at his husband, looked him directly in the eye, and said, “Told you so.”

When Steve and the nurse came back, they found Clint leaning sprawled in his plastic chair, laughing hysterically, while Phil watched him smiling.

“Are they always like this?” Steve muttered.

“No,” the nurse answered. “They’re usually worse.”

**Author's Note:**

> A few less important notes: if you're waiting for the next fic in my Coulson's Crew universe, fear not. It is coming. It's almost done. And I hope to get it up before the end of this month.
> 
> And for the record, I am on [tumblr](http://mandyp12.tumblr.com/), if you ever want to chat.


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